The Treachery of Maeglin
by DaughteroftheValar1701
Summary: All know the story of the Fall of Gondolin, but few know how it was to be there on that day.


Yo! Secret Daughter readers, please do not kill me. I've been struggling lately, and this hella angsty fic helped a lot. Here we go, since the Silm doesn't go into much detail on this matter: The Sack of Gondolin, and how Maeglin was a dick to everyone.

* * *

I slip into my pale blue robes, smiling serenely as the city wakes around my room. The bell in the main square chimes the hour, nine chimes echoing across Gondolin. The dark one had told me he would appear as the sun was about to rise. In the meantime, though, I decide that I will stroll around the city on this day of festival and enjoy my favourite parts of it before they are gone forever.

The market is bustling with unconcerned people, all laughing and chattering happily, some greeting me with respect or joy, as I am a knight of the king. I nod back, smiling cooly, enjoying the fact that I alone hold all their fates in my hand. A small twinge of guilt pokes at my chest as I pass a group of playing children, but I ignore it as I continue to make my way through the city.

The sun shines down through stained glass windows and bathes the cobblestones in rainbows of colour. The breeze floats lightly among the buildings, ruffling my hair as I arrive at the city's edge. The terrace upon which I am stood commands a wide view of the mountains, but only if the flowering vines are clipped every week. Their stifling perfume makes me groggy and contented, and I take a seat on a bench nearby, brushing my hair away from my face, and sink into my thoughts.

 _Idril._

Her very name makes my heart swell. Her beauty, her honey-gold hair as it flies free about her shoulders, her eyes, as blue as the sky above… I pull myself out of my mind as my face grows hot.

An elleth enters my terrace: I recognise her as a handmaid in the king's hall. She smiles at me shyly, and I realise with slight amusement that she harbours affection for me. Alas for her, my heart belongs to another. She seems to sense this and leaves quickly, blushing.

I smile and return to my mind. I remember clearly how Idril entered the court, seven or eight years ago now, a mortal man by her side. She announced her love for this man, this mortal, who would die and leave her a widow, or perhaps run off with another mortal. The mortals do seem to have strange ideas surrounding marriage. I was forced to endure their wedding with a grim smile, trying to put forth a face of good cheer while all the city celebrated this sacrilegious ceremony. Now, the man had forced her to bear a half-breed child, neither elf nor man. When she is mine, I will not shame her so.

I care not for her claims of marriage and love. He is a mortal, beneath us and destined for death. She was forced into this facsimile of marriage, bound to the inferior creature, and forced to bear his child.

The child is bright-faced and golden haired, always laughing and running along beside his mother. I shall throw him off the walls, just as I shall do with his father, as was done to my father. Though, my dearest Idril does seem to be attracted to him, so perhaps we will keep him, as one does a dog.

My stomach growls at me as I rise from my seat, and I make my way to a small dining room, stopping to purchase a necklace and several long-stemmed flowers from a pair of merchants.

The clock tower stands tall above me as I take my meal, the hands on the face telling me that it is now noon. I have time left yet to enjoy Gondolin. I finish my meal, pay, and leave, returning to the palace.

Idril, I have learned, takes rest about now, from noon to three, as her little child tires her greatly. I pass through the halls unmolested, and I soon find myself outside of her door. I hear the laughter of her child, and draw back, then realise that he has no fear of me. I open the door carefully.

The princess of Gondolin's room is high on the palace's inner wall, looking out over the city, as my own does. I can see the place I took my meal, the terrace on which I sat this morning, and the merchant from whom I bought the necklace, his other wares shining in the sunlight, all in a glance as the child stands at the railing.

Her son looks to me as I enter, then smiles. "Hello, Uncle!" I have told him to call me uncle, so as to reduce confusion. He is too young to understand 'first cousin once removed.'

"Hello, Eärendil," I reply. I see Idril asleep on her bed, a vase of flowers standing nearby. I remove them and replace them with my own, then arrange the necklace around the bottom of the vase. It takes most of my will not to fall on her now, to have her wake with me above her. I wrench my eyes away from her thin sleeping gown and turn to her son. "Would you like to take these flowers to your father? Say they come from your mother."

The boy's face lights up, and he nods, his gold hair flying about his face. "Yes, Uncle! Do you want to come, too?"

I smile, a forced and mirthless thing. "No, no, little one. This is your quest! It will be an adventure." His eyes grow as I talk, and he smiles until I think his cheeks must ache.

"Oh yes!" He leaps over to me, snatches the flowers from my hand, and flees the room. I chuckle as he departs at high speed, then turn to the sleeping figure on the bed.

How I wish to take her away from all that is soon to happen. I realise that my actions are selfish and will doom thousands, but the pendant of Morgoth burns in my pocket, as it has done for the past year, whenever I begin to doubt my choice. I take it out and lay it in my palm. It is an ugly thing, of iron and fire-glass. Its facets seem to gleam like eyes, and even if there is no fire in the room, it always reflects a bit of red light back to me. I recall with a shudder the eyes of Morgoth's lieutenant, Mairon. Morgoth was terrifying, but at least I had known what to expect with him. Brute strength somehow entwined with dark elegance seemed to drip from his tall form, and I shook in his presence, bathed in the unearthly light of the Silmarils balanced on his brow.

Mairon, however, was...unsettling. He bore a fiery light around his gold hair, and often would sneak behind me, fingers like fire slipping through my own hair, a wolf-like smile on his lips as he draped himself on the arm of his master's iron throne. His voice was silky, finding its way into my mind even as I was escorted back to Gondolin. His eyes were shining gold, wreathed in flames that seemed to flicker as he moved. He could summon fire from his fingertips and melt metal with a touch. I had no desire to cross him. He slid the pendant into my pocket as I was pushed, blind-folded, out of the dark halls. His voice whispered in my ear, _"Come back soon."_ He laughed as I shuddered, then placed a mocking kiss on my cheek. My face burned where he kissed me as I stumbled away, his laugh still echoing in my ears.

The sound of Eärendil returning snaps me out out of my reverie. "He liked them, Uncle!" he tells me. "I found him with Grandfather in the throne room. He picked me up and swung me around." He smiled sweetly as if he were about to ask for something. "Uncle… maybe you could pick me up too?"

I do not tell him I wish to heave him over the balcony. "No, little one. My arms tire from the forge, and I must return to my knightly duties." His face falls, but I poke the tip of his nose before I go. His laughter follows me out of the room.

The palace is bustling, and I smile coldly as I pass Tuor in the halls. A mortal, in Gondolin! Not for long, anyway. He grins at me, cautiously diplomatic. The flowers that Eärendil had carried were tucked in his belt, and he followed the path I walk in the opposite direction, back to Idril's room. The clock tower chimes the half-hour, half past one. I make my way to the armoury.

I was told to disable as many weapons as I can without detection. The catapults are easy: I cut ropes and destroy counterweights on each, then move to the shields. There is not much that I can do, but I put holes in each with the swords. The swords, once they have done their jobs, are wedged under the broken counterweights and snapped. The spears and burned almost through, so that they will break when thrust. The helms are stripped of their padding, so that they will slip over the eyes on the soldiers. The straps of all the armour are cut. The crossbows are jammed. The arrows are snapped. The bowstrings are cut.

When I am done, an hour has passed. I leave the armoury unseen and make my way to the throne room. Merriment is taking place throughout all the palace and I pas it by, giving just the right amount of smiles and festivity to allay any suspicion. An ellon, already muddy in his drinks, slumps on my arm, trying to pull himself together. I slip away and leave him to puddle on the floor, then enter the throne room.

Turgon sits upon his marble throne, his light coronet nested with garnets in his gold hair. He smiles indulgently at me as I enter, and I bow to him. Idril appears behind me, her hair unbound and streaming, and she smiles broadly at me. She wears the necklace that I set in her room, and one of the flowers is set in her hair.

"Maeglin, I am sorry if I have been cold to you," she tells me. "This is a time of forgiveness and new beginnings! Thank you so much for the necklace; it is beautiful. May the House of the Mole ever prosper!" She embraces me briefly before skipping off into the crowds outside of the palace. I grin stupidly after her, then shake myself back to some semblance of stability, walking to my seat on the left of the throne. My stomach still flutters as I settle into the slate of my seat, feeling as though I could sing. Idril forgives me! She harbours no ill will! She may yet love me, if I bide my time. Now, however, I must play the advisor. Kind, wise, and impartial.

The city is busy preparing for the Gates of Summer, and the smell of cooking wafts through the palace, making me salivate. My earlier meal had been satisfactory, but the cooks of Gondolin could make even the strongest-willed warrior waver. Turgon hums along to the music echoing outside.

I look to him, wondering what will become of him tonight. I have no true wish to see him come to harm, but in the same moment hating him for denying my love. He took me in after both my parents were killed. I must thank him for that, and I have, many times over.

Yet still, for all he has done, I still harbour resentment. He made me Lord of my own house, but he denied me marriage to the one that I love. I will try and protect him during the battle, if I have a chance, for overall, he has been kind.

* * *

Night falls around Gondolin, and the festivity increases. We are all to greet the sun as it rises in the east, though I am the only one who knows that the last light most of these people will see shall come from the north.

Idril whirls through the crowd, Tuor barely clinging to her hand as she dances. Eärendil follows his mother and smiles broadly all the while. He is only seven, but is beloved by everyone in the city. Except me, but no one need know that. Tuor is breathless and a little tired; men are never good at staying up late. The lanterns hanging on ropes above the courtyard where we dance make dark circles prominent under his eyes. I smirk as I refill my goblet with water - no wine for me tonight; I need all my wits about me. My nerves leap at loud noises, though, and I would be glad of a little something to steady myself.

I am asked to dance by several ellyth and one ellon: I grant only his request and sweep him onto the dancefloor. He is slightly startled by my intensity but recovers well, and takes the lead. As we dance, I keep my eyes open for Idril. The clock tower chimes three as I spy her, leaning against a sleeping Tuor. Eärendil is not in sight, but I trust he has not gone far. The song ends and I return to my lonely seat. The next one starts, this one a brisk melody, and I find Idril standing before me. My breath catches as she holds her hand out to me.

"My husband is being such a bore," she says gaily, and wrenches me to my feet and onto the floor. The dance seems to pass in a moment, the lantern-light glancing off of Idril's hair, a light giggle slipping from her lips as she spins, then it is over. Tuor has woken and places a hand on my arm. I have no choice, so I step away and let him dance away with his wife. I return to my seat and my watery goblet, then realize that all that water must have taken its toll.

When I return to the festival, Idril has found Eärendil and is dancing with him in her arms. Tuor is once more asleep on the side. Eärendil squirms away, face scarlet, then runs to me. "Uncle Maeglin! Naneth is making me dance and ada is asleep! Can I stay with you?" He uses his enormous blue eyes to pry into my resolve, and I allow him to sit beside me.

The festival continues, and suddenly the clock chimes: four. Turgon is sitting beside Tuor, nonchalantly stacking various objects on the sleeping man. Tuor already has three slices of bread balancing on his legs, ribbons braided into his hair, a grape in between his nose and his mouth, a small tomato in one of his ears, and several shoes in assorted places. Members of the court stifle their giggles as the king picks up a large slice of bread and places it gently on Tuor's forehead. It wavers for a moment, then balances perfectly. The surrounding elves whoop and laugh as their cheers wake the man. He yelps as all of the things fall from his body, then laughs along with them.

I chuckle quietly and return to my goblet. "What are you drinking, Uncle?" Eärendil asks. "Ada says I am too young for wine, but I want to try it! If it is only crushed grapes, it cannot harm me any!"

"Alas, your ada is right!" I tell him. "Wine can be powerful on one so young. I didn't have my first glass until I was nearly twice your age." I remember my ada telling me my new name and offering me a sip from his own goblet. I remember taking it eagerly, then telling him after that my name was Lómion and that it would remain that way. My mother's face showed horror as Eöl slapped me across the face and advanced on her. _I told you never to speak in that language here! I told you I would not permit it._ He was tall and terrible, yet so was the cliff that took him. My skin crawls as I realize that I might very well meet my foretold doom tonight.

This greatly sobers me, and I scowl defiantly into my goblet until Eärendil leaves. I stalk away then, having no reason to remain, and am drawn inexplicably to the edge of the wall. The brisk wind blows my dark thoughts from my mind, the stars glowing like embers in the heavens as I breathe.

"I too come here to think." I start, turning to see Turgon standing beside me. He has taken off his crown, and its gold and garnets pick up small specks of light from the festival's lanterns behind us. "The burden of a king is a heavy one."

I nod respectfully, not meeting his eyes. The moon is a small crescent, and its light catches on the crags below us, making my stomach squirm. I wrench my eyes up to the tops of the mountains. Snow still glitters there, even if it is spring.

Suddenly, I feel something burning at my side. The pendant! It feels as though it has caught fire in my pocket! I fumble in my robes as Turgon says "What is…the sun is not due for half an hour yet, and we are facing north, are we not? What is that glow?" My heart stops as I realise what it is: Morgoth has come.

* * *

"It's impossible! Morgoth has never found our city before, and he will not now! He is outside of the encircling mountains, and he will never find the pass!" Glorfindel is pacing furiously before the king, one hand buried in his hair and the other clutching the hilt of his sword. "We must strike when he does not expect it. We must take him down, while he is still outside our city. We must attack now!"

"No," I say. "We can wait him out here. We have all we need: food, clean water, weaponry. We have no need of that last, however, as he will not breach the mountains."

Turgon growls in frustration, running his fingers through his hair. The sun has truly risen now, and I can hear the sound of Morgoth's armies from the king's quarters. Dragon's fire arcs over the mountains, evaporating cloud banks as I watch from the tower. The sounds of orcs make my head swim, knowing that all of this is my fault. My throat burns suddenly, and I force myself to speak. "My lord, is there no...no secret way to escape? No passageway that our people can use?"

"There is one." Turgon rises from his chair. "It is small, however: we will have to evacuate by degrees. I shall leave last; it is my duty to remain with my home. Idril will fight to stay, as will Tuor, but I want them out."

My heart leaps; this is my chance! "I shall escort them out, if you so command, my lord," I say, stepping forward.

Turgon nods. "Please. They shall be the next rulers if I am killed. Maeglin, please lead them out. Idril will know what I mean. I shall see you, if all goes well."

An echoing explosion reaches our tower, shaking the walls. Glorfindel stumbles to the window. "They have breached he mountains!" A dragon's head rears over the mountain ridge, spewing fire to the heavens.

"Maeglin, go!" Turgon roars as a jet of fire shoots towards the city. Screams rise from where the fire hits, near the market. I run from the room, finding Idril and Tuor in their room, Eärendil clutching at his mother's skirts.

"Oh Maeglin, what is happening?" Idril cries, sweeping over to me. "Is it Morgoth?"

"Yes. The king commands that we take the secret road, but Tuor, he requires your presence." Idril holds her husband's arm and presses her hand to her mouth, tears shining in her eyes.

Tuor nods stoically. He kisses Idril, then picks up his sword from beside the bed. Eärendil tries to follow him, but Idril keeps him by her side. "Where is he?"

I point to the spiral stairs. "His quarters. Lord Glorfindel is with him." As Tuor leaves, I see a dragon clawing its way over the mountain. "Get down!" A jet of fire hits our tower, rocking it. Stones rain down around us, and I shove Idril ad Eärendil under a small table. A rock hits my shoulder, sending stars through my eyes, but not severely affecting me. Once the floor stops quaking, I drag the two of them out into the corridor. "Where is the secret passage?" I demand, pulling Idril down the nearest staircase.

"It's under the city, down in the canals." She coughs at the dust jarred loose by the attack. "My father had it built last year; he was worried about an attack like this, especially after you were captured."

I feel blood running down my back from the rock, feel dust settling in my eyes and mouth, feel the pendant of Morgoth burning in my pocket, but ignore it all and keep running. I have to get Idril away before Turgon gives up and gives the word to evacuate. Tuor would find us and take her before I could escape. Stars spiral into my eyes and I stagger against the wall, wincing.

"Maeglin! Maeglin, what happened?" Idril gasps, grabbing my arm.

"It's nothing." I clamber upright, then sling an arm around her shoulders. "My legs are unsteady, but I shall be fine in a moment." She grunts but bears my weight easily enough. My arm tightens around her, but she seems not to notice. We emerge into the entrance hall, where stones have fallen and elves lay dead from where they have been struck by debris. Idril gasps in horror and continues to hurry through the hall, face hard. Eärendil's eyes are wide with fright.

We emerge from the hall and Idril hisses, "It's just here." The door is small and tucked behind a statue, and she pulls it open. The passageway is dark, and Eärendil balks at the blackness, but I pull him in.

I weigh my options as we descend a long stair. I cannot let our little attempt to progress any further, nor can I delay, for Tuor could find us before I could escape. It is time for me to make my move. Idril makes to support me down the passage, but I do not move. She too stops and leans on me.

"Oh Maeglin," she whispers, her head on my chest. "How did this happen? How did he know where we are?" I make no answer, but I yank Eärendil to me and shake Idril off.

"You will follow me," I snarl. I can hear the sound of the canals behind us and Eärendil is trembling against me, the blood running down my back, and I see the horrified realisation in Idril's eyes. "Your husband cannot find us, as I have protection from the dark lord."

She looks as though I have stabbed her. "Thousands will die today," she hissed. "Thousands of innocent people, who have lived in peace for centuries! You have doomed them all, and for what? What possibly could justify this treachery? What were you offered?" She strikes me across the face, making me stumble. Eärendil breaks away from me and runs to his mother. My eyes find Idril's as I wipe blood off my lips and straighten up.

I have always been taller than her; she has always hated it. Now, I tower over her and see fear, masked heavily by defiance breaking through her façade. I advance, fast, and as I am right before her, I growl, "You." I am upon them, one hand shoving Eärendil away from me and the other forearm pressing Idril to the wall. At last I kiss her, but it ends much too soon as she writhes away, blood from my split lip on her face.

"You shall die like your father, lusting after women you cannot have!" She spits at my feet, scarlet spattering the floor. "You shall be killed, just as he prophesied, over the same precipice. I shall take immense pleasure in shoving you over that wall." Idril is resplendent in her fury, her eyes shining.

I smile. She is beautiful, but my heart aches to hurt her so. I reach over and take hold of Eärendil's arm, pointing back up the stairs. "We go this way. There is a small sanctuary made by Salgant and I that we can reside in until the sack is complete."

"Uncle, let me go!" Eärendil cries, struggling against my grip. I remove a dagger from an inside pocket and place my hand on his shoulder. The tip of the blade rests gently on his collarbone, and he goes still.

"How dare you threaten my son," Idril snarls. "He is a child! He is innocent, but I suppose that matters not to you, seeing as you have doomed thousands of lives, just as innocent as his!" I keep my eyes on hers as I move the dagger against Eärendil's throat. Idril gasps as a drop of crimson appears under the silver of my knife.

Eärendil whimpers softly, and I slip the knife back into my robes. "I do not _want_ to hurt either of you," I say, reaching for the railing on the staircase, "but I will." A tremendous rumbling knocks the three of us off our feet, Eärendil still clutched tightly in my arms. Dust rains down, and Idril screams. I pull myself and Eärendil upright and stagger towards the stairs, then climb to the door. Outside is utter chaos. The tallest tower of the palace has fallen, and nearby a coronet of garnets lies, near buried in stone. Idril gasps at the rubble from beside me, thankfully not seeing her father's crown.

Eärendil suddenly squirms free of me and runs, but I am on him in an instant. "Uncle, let go of me!" he screams, twisting about in my arms until I retrieve the knife from my pocket.

"Stay still, Eärendil," I snarl. "We must get you and your naneth out of here safely." He goes still but glares furiously at me as I drag him back to the passageway entrance. "This way." We skirt around the edge of the courtyard, its lanterns having fallen and set trees ablaze. A harp snaps from the fire's heat and one of the strings whips by Eärendil's face. He flinches but does not run. We reach the walkway along the edge of the wall, and I chance a glance over it to see fire. Balrogs crowd at the base of the wall, all breathing fire up at me. I jerk back to avoid having my face singed, then hurry on with Eärendil clutched to me. My shoulder smarts as we keep going, making me wince, but I only switch from holding Eärendil to holding Idril and pick up my pace.

Suddenly I am shoved violently against the wall. Eärendil trips over my legs and I grab him by the throat, only to see over his golden head that Tuor has appeared from nowhere. His sword is shining with dark blood and his face is streaked with it. He is furious.

"You foul murderer!" he bellows, held at bay by the sight of my hands on Eärendil's throat. "Turgon, he who gave you more than you ever deserved, he died in this carnage, crushed by his own tower!" Idril sobs and buries her face in her sleeve, but Tuor continues. "The city is burning, hundreds are dead, Ecthelion fell slaying Gothmog, and all you could think about was having my wife for yourself!"

I say nothing but pull myself to my feet, one hand entwined in Eärendil's hair and the other now holding my silver knife to the boy's throat. "You cannot know the power that the dark lord has! Idril and Eärendil might have lived, had you let me spirit them away! Now they shall die, just as you will! You have doomed your wife and son, even as I try to save them!" Tuor makes to lunge for Eärendil, but I yank him back. Scarlet drips down his neck as my knife slips, making Idril scream. "Come any closer and I cut his throat!" I growl, bending Eärendil's head back further. He yelps and tries to knock away the blade, but I pull him closer and hiss in his ear, "Stop moving!"

Idril reaches out to me, her face streaked with tears. "Please Maeglin," she begs. "We can talk about this, please just let him go! You can take me instead! Just let my son go."

Anger flares within me, dizzy and baseless anger. I move my hand from Eärendil's hair to the collar of his robes and haul him up, dangling him over the edge. Idril screams again and Tuor gasps, clearly wanting to sprint forward but holding himself back. Eärendil squirms and yells, clutching my arm for support. "Let him go?" I growl at Idril. "Let him go? Fine!" I act as though I am about to open my hand, but I keep a tight grip on Eärendil's robes. Idril sobs again, tears streaming down her face. I pull Eärendil back over the wall and draw my sword. Shoving Eärendil to Idril, I raise my blade to Tuor and strike.

He reacts fast, but not fast enough. I open his arm near the shoulder, green cloth made brown by scarlet blood. He gasps in pain and stumbles, but Idril pushes him upright and stands back, Eärendil burying his face in her robes.

Tuor slashes before me, but I am so much more nimble than him, even while injured. I spin behind him and stab. He is somehow out of the way, and strikes at me again. His blade whooshes by my head, taking a dark braid woven with gold with it. I see it fly over the wall, and Tuor snarls, "You will follow it soon, scum!"

I laugh, the background noise of destruction adding a mad tone to my laughter. "No, please, after you!" The last word transforms into a grunt of exertion as I lunge at Tuor, aiming to stab him through the heart and at the same time drive him over the edge, but even as I move, I realise what a stupid idea I have acted upon. It is too late, however, as Tuor leaps aside and lets my momentum carry me toward the edge.

I catch myself before I fall over the wall, but Idril is there and she places her hands on my shoulders, and even though we have known each other since childhood, even though I was a knight to her father, even though we laughed and played together in the streets of Gondolin, she shoves me back and says one word: "Kinslayer."

The edge of the wall passes beneath my feet, and I see the three of them, Idril, Tuor, and Eärendil, as if they are painted there: Tuor clutching his bleeding shoulder and ridiculous coloured ribbons braided into his hair, Idril's eyes suddenly cold and locked dead on mine, and Eärendil with one hand to his throat and the other holding his mother's hand. He does not meet my eyes.

Then they are gone, and all I see is the stone falling past me, faster than anything has ever moved. My body strikes stone once, knocking all breath from me. I am turned over and I am able to see the Balrogs below me. They roar and shake their fists, but they are still so far away. I hit stone again, then again. The pain lulls me into a stupor just before I hit the flames.

* * *

Maeglin is such a fascinating character. He is so evil, but really, he just wants a hug. Preferably from Idril. Followed by her marrying him. But still, a great guy!

Thank you for reading it, and extra special thanks if you review! They make my day, and I could use that.


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